…Fucking platinum in fact, depending on what’s said. The end of January means back to studying for me and after politely being told to shut the fuck up by a librarian that clearly needed head rather than her head in a book, I realised that give the jobs worth virgin her due; there are definitely times when it’s more appropriateto ┬ákeep your gob firmly closed. And hence we arrive at the tale of the Storm.
It was a normal night in Soho when I met him, full of confidence, full of bullshit.
“Sorry, what’s your name?” I asked.
Let’s call him – “Storm”
OK, so apparently I’d picked up one of the X-Men. He could’ve at least picked a “superhero” that didn’t have a vagina. I was bowled over by his confidence at first and so we arranged to meet up a couple of weeks later.
He wasn’t even half as hot the next time I saw him. It was like waking up next to someone you’d brought home with beer goggles on, (only we hadn’t had sex yet).
I didn’t yet know his profession but presumed he was an actor, cos it’s totes Oscar worthy pulling of confidence with the name of a blonde gladiator.

Anyway… Despite being named after the worst weather possible he had the pride of an American Beauty Queen and thus when we’re stripped down, he asks
“What you into?” Erm, art? Cinema? Guys whose mothers weren’t tripping on acid when she named then?
“I’m open-minded. Try me.” We landed on the old favourite of role-play. Or what used to be an old favourite. I’d told him I was an actor, that I’d been cast in a new reality TV show, (which wasn’t s total lie) and so as role-play kicks off…
“So, you want this part on The Only Way is Essex?! Well son, I’ve got five boys in the corridor that want this part too. What have you got that they haven’t?”
Erm, charisma? Wit? A-Levels? As he ‘seductively’ stroked his member. Was this really his idea of a turn-on? It was totes cringe and def more bore-play than foreplay. And in thinking student/teacher roles would work better, he obviously hadn’t learnt his lesson.

“So, why were you swearing the playground?” BIBLE. Maybe because my teacher sucked at role play? I mean, swearing?! The playground?! What was I, six?!
Not only had I picked up a hurricant instead of a hurricane, but evidently a pedophile too. Great. As if this wasn’t traumatic enough, I haven’t even told how she scratched up my back. I looked like I’d been in a fight with a stray cat on steroids. Needless to say pulling off an orgasm was harder than keeping a Jennifer Lopez marriage together.

And, as Carrie B rightly states, “maybe there are times when we should, shut the fuck up?”